City Tattoo Sleeve Novels & Stories

Therefore Cain is here too. Noah sits in my lap, purring while either tracing the part of my tattoo that comes out of the top of my shirt or playing with the short hair on top of my head. I have a sleeve tattoo that comes up my arm and over my shoulder then up my neck slightly on my right side. It peeks out of any shirt I wear, including a tux if I need to wear one. Either way, he's completely in his own little world that is me. He's not even embarrassed that he's purring in front of everyone. (which he usually would be embarrassed) It's literally like no one else is in the room but him and I.

It was clearly a sore subject. His breath was deep now, his chest rising and falling slowly. Kate’s eyes traveled to his chest tattoo; a black and grey skull with a snake constricting it covering the majority of his left pectoral muscle. It continued across his shoulder and down his left bicep. She wondered if it had any significance, deciding to ask him when he awoke.

He asked as he breathed out his smoke. I take off my jacket and my shirt to show him my tattoo of the Criemsons. The tattoo shows a blood sword that encircles with vipers and roses that symbolizes our gang or mafia name. I swiveled to indicate my identity while his ladies gape at me like the last cupcake in a bakery they wanted to devour. "Holy mother of great mercy" He grinned. "Now can we converse interaction?" I asked before I put my clothes in and I know his kittens will groan for consuming clothes.

It had been a month since Katleah surprised him. Tonight, it was Marco’s turn to return the favor. Earlier that week, he’d gotten a tattoo inked over his left chest; etched in elegant cursive, the words read, Till Death Do Us Part, My Katleah.

My eyes drifted down to his torso, and my breath caught. God must have enlisted his finest artist to carve Killian Knight. The tattoo, a haunting web of thorned vines, began at his right hip and sprawled across his torso. Its black branches reached his heart, with another branch peeking over his left shoulder and spreading down his arm to his elbow. The intricate design, hidden beneath his clothes, was now fully exposed.

Best tattoo shop in town. Hands down.

Douglas vowed. “I am counting on your words. Make sure you keep them!” Douglas nod his head at me and touch the tattoo on his shoulder. The tattoo which is the drawing of an axe with a small handle and letters XXX written under it is a sign that represents our Mafia organization. Every member and worker of our Mafia has the tattoo on either their right hand arm or the back of their neck or on the upper part of their back for those that don’t want the tattoo to be seen. By touching the tattoo, Douglas pledges his loyalty to the organization.

Damian stood beside her, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him, close enough that if she turned her head, her lips would brush his jaw. The doors slid open directly into his living room, the city sprawled out beyond the glass like a glittering promise. Sarah barely had time to take it in before Damian was moving, shrugging out of his jacket and tossing it onto the back of the couch. His fingers went to his tie, loosening it with a sharp tug before he pulled it free and draped it over the jacket. Sarah’s breath hitched as he unbuttoned his cuffs, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows, exposing the dark ink of a tattoo snaking up his forearm—something in Latin, the letters

An artist from the wrong side of the river who didn't belong here. _*]:min-w-0 gap-3"> "A tattoo artist," he said. "That explains the ink. May I?" _*]:min-w-0 gap-3"> He gestured to my arm, and I extended it without thinking. _*]:min-w-0 gap-3"> His fingers wrapped around my wrist, cool and precise, turning my arm to examine the tattoos. A geometric mandala on my inner forearm. Script in Sanskrit along the outer edge. A phoenix rising from ashes near my elbow.

I laid down on the bed as Phil, the tattoo artist, started working on my new ink. Josh was on another bed adding to the sleeve on his arm. My tattoo was half of a wolf’s face in a Samoan design with the caption ‘Fight or Die’ underneath it. Josh had phoned some old friends he still had and had arranged for an introduction to the man that ran the fight nights in California. We went to the first one and just watched. The place was packed and I felt sure that I could have taken that night’s fighters easily.